


Jaguar : Vendetta

by OpheliaAlexiou



Category: Fuchsia Comics
Genre: Alternate Universe, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Gen, Historical References, Korrigan, Oracles, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, historical fiction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-09 20:35:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10421232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaAlexiou/pseuds/OpheliaAlexiou
Summary: A story about Elizabeth Amelia Bonham, alias "Jaguar," heroine of the fictional locale of Mount Ashmore, Maine, in my Fuchsia Comics universe.





	1. Prophecy

Year 1,715 – 3 May – 8:15 A. M.

 

“Go to London in April,” the words in a harmonious tenor echoed in his ears as he looked up at the sky to watch as the moon proceeded across the sun, “There is a theatre called Sadler's Wells on Roseberry Avenue in London. One day, there will be a sign that will present itself: on that day, be at the theatre, and watch for a grey-eyed woman in a green dress. When you see the silver crane, approach and speak to her. She will be expecting you, she will know you, and will know what you want, but you must present yourself.”

 

The words of Arturia echoed in his ears as he looked up and watched the sun's light dimming, watched the sun as it started to vanish behind the veil of the moon. Eyes of royal azure focused on the building skeptically; it was described more recently as being “a nursery of debauchery,” though debauchery was perhaps a strong word and one that was inappropriately vague and subjective. It was true, the content of the plays and performances put on was somewhat on the lower end of it all, even at times risque by then standard of the day, but who was he to judge?

 

Korrigan, bronzy of complexion and bald, wizened but mostly-smooth-skinned with a wide mouth and a somewhat large nose, with a tree-skeleton-shaped wrinkling in the forehead and between the brows, considered himself for a moment. His ears were horizontal and leaf-shaped, indeed almost doglike or foxy in appearance, with long strands of silver-coloured hair coming from the sides of his head and jawline, lacking a moustache but having a poignant beard. Standing at a modest height of four feet and a weight of one hundred pounds of tightly-corded, athletic musculature, he was by no means large or imposing in visible stature.

 

“Excuse me, I am here looking for someone. Can you tell me where to find ...”

 

“Are you looking for Gabrielle Meadowcroft?”

 

“Yes. How did you …”

 

“She asked me to keep watch for you. Please, this way,” answered a young man, who promptly led the way into the theatre and down some back corridors and up a stair. He followed behind until they reached a large room with an enormous window that looked out at the morning sun and the continuing eclipse.

 

“The young lady will be with you shortly. Please wait here,” continued the young man.

 

For twenty minutes, Korrigan waited, until the door opened in the increasingly-shadowed room as the moon moved in the heavens, continuing inexorably toward total eclipse. He turned, and in fading light, saw a woman five and a half feet in height with glinting grey irises and apricot complexion under a mane of black hair, in a green dress with a brooch on her left shoulder in the shape and fashion of a silver crane.

 

“Caerwyn Mordecai,” the young woman, in her earliest twenties, said as she closed the door, by way of a greeting.

 

“No one has used that name in four hundred years,” Caerwyn answered truthfully, “I must apologize. I ...”

 

“You were told that I would be expecting you, but you had your misgivings. I understand, but my visions are often quite accurate,” she answered.

 

“Yes. Thank you, for understanding. I know you have a long history, already, of accurate foretelling, I must deduce, you are aware of my reasoning for coming to see you, then,” Korrigan said in answer to the young prophetess and actress.

 

“Yes. You have come in search of an omen of your own future,” Gabrielle supplied, and the Korrigan nodded in his reply, quiet and reserved, before looking out the window and up at the sky. As the light continued to fade, slim lips curved to form a smile, faint but prominent and unmistakable.

 

“We must wait a bit.”

 

“For the moon?”

 

“Yes. My sense of the future is that I am to gaze into the future for you, but I am not to do so until all light is faded, and the world is cast into the shadows,” was her reply, the young prophetess speaking in a serene voice as her breathing was steadily deepening in anticipation of what was to come.

 

“I have waited four hundred years. A few more minutes, will be no terrible trauma,” Korrigan assured her, to which she nodded as the light continued to dwindle. She walked slowly further into the room, until she stood near the centre of the room, with the window to her back as she faced him. He watched as her hair started to waft as if in a breeze, even though he could feel no draft from anywhere in the room that would have solicited the movement.

 

As the moon drifted into position and the light faded out, his ears twitched at the suspicion of sound, before coming to the realization that everything had fallen into a deathly, pronounced silence. His eyes returned to the young woman and as all light faded, he watched her blink one last time before darkness engulfed the world, and jerked back reflexively when her eyes opened once more, now glowing distinctively white. Dim, but poignant, and the sound of an unfamiliar instrument now filtered into his ears, a dark and ominous sound, like some metallic wind instrument.

 

“In five years, my family and I will leave this place and travel to the New World, to a city called Mount Ashmore – this city is unlike any other in the world,” the prophetess began, as Caerwyn realized that his sense of time was beginning to be out of phase, as if time itself was slowing down.

 

“In Great Britain, you will remain secure and comfortable for centuries to come. For three hundred years, this land, this place, will remain your home. You will remain here, and watch the rise and fall of the British Empire, numerous wars – including one great and terrible war, which will be followed by a greater and more terrible war. You must remain here for all of this, and decades beyond the latter,” the prophetess continued. He listened quietly, the sound of music continuing to filter into his ears despite no discernible point of origin, her voice having taken on a hollow and metallic element to itself as well.

 

“A dark force will rise in the world, just under three hundred years from now. In three hundred and one years, there will be a moment where all will crystallize. A great power to the east will be dominated by a tyrannical autocracy, and from there will be launched a conspiracy to corrupt and diminish a great power to the west. This great power in the west will, that year, invest into the leadership of their nation, a woman, for the first time in their history. This event you must wait for, must watch for, must respond to, yourself.”

 

“In three hundred and four years, six months, you will travel to Mount Ashmore, which will have aligned itself into the great power to the west. A most unusual woman will be the most prominent woman in the city in that age, you will know her by many traits, but the foremost of these I can pronounce. Her hair will be black, her hips will have endowment like that of a man though her identity will be clearly feminine, and she will be a woman who possesses great prowess in science and engineering, in leadership and in combat,” Gabrielle continued, as the music in his ears continued. Time seemed as if only crawling past, as if in motion slowed a thousandfold, the only light behind her coming from a ring of fire around the moon.

 

“You will go to her, you will meet with her, in a great hollow obelisk of stone, one which will tower over much of the city, one which will dominate the skyline of the city, and you will warn her of impending peril,” the prophetess went on, “for the great power to the east will be controlled by a man whose name you will know when the time comes. He will send a small army to kill this woman whose influence over the great power to the west is impressive, honourable, and noble, and to succeed, your role must not fail. When the number of the year is four digits comprised of two numbers trapped in repetitive sequence, you must go to this woman, and you must warn her of the man whose name you will know when this future date arrives. Do this, and you will then have a place in Mount Ashmore thereafter, where you will be secure and comfortable.”

 

“You wish to know of a potential cure to your current condition,” the prophetess concluded, “that I cannot see, but I sense you will be there. I sense you are meant to be here until then, and are meant to be there afterward. I sense that if there is a cure to your predicament, that cure will be discovered there.”

 

“Do you understand?” came the question at last, as Korrigan sensed his temporal synchronicity returning to normal and saw the sunlight beginning to brighten on one side and the shadows starting to fade.

 

“Yes. Thank you, oracle,” Caerwyn answered, “will your family know me in the future?”

 

“No, but that can be changed,” she said in response. She reached up and unfastened a ribbon around her throat, one he had not noted prior, which included also a silver crane on the front and which was otherwise myrtle green in colouration.

 

“Take this. It will be recognized, if you arrive in the city and decide to seek refuge or harbour with my family there, though it will not be needed. The woman you will be there to seek will be the most prominent woman in the city, and in her home you will find sanctuary, as needed. A future oracle may be able to discern enough to grant a cure to what ails you.”

 

“Thank you, oracle. I will be on about my way and not trouble you further,” Korrigan answered.

 

“You were no trouble. My schedule intentionally allowed for your appearance and for this conversation to occur,” Gabrielle answered in the waxing light. She opened the door for him, nevertheless, and allowed him to depart on his own, at which he nodded.

 

“Thank you. Farewell, oracle,” Korrigan said, leaving with the ribbon she provided, and feeling more than satisfied by the prophecy he had received.

 


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Korrigan arrives in Mount Ashmore and delivers a warning for Elizabeth from an ancestor of her live-in doctor's family.

Year 2,019 – 17 December – 9:45 A. M.

 

On the southwest coastline of England, Korrigan looked up at the sky and took a deep breath, then turned to look at the land of his birth and upbringing, and centuries of life. He thought about all he had seen in that time, all he had done, and everyone he had known, before shaking his head and turning westward once more, toward the sea ahead of him.

 

“All right, it is time to leave,” he said to himself, steeling himself for the long walk that would be involved. He had tremendous endurance for travel, of course, as a korrigan ought, but that did not diminish the distance he would now start to cross, nevertheless, because it was thousands of miles to walk. Fortunately, for him, though, he lived light and travelled light accordingly, having little in the way of accumulated personal possessions that he really needed to take with him.

 

He took another breath, then crouched and touched the ground, and it opened up beneath him, taking him down and into the earth, the sand sealing above him as a pod of open space descended into the ground. Once he was down far enough, as the sediment around him went from sand to darker earth, and then eventually reached the bedrock itself, he turned his eye and attention west by southwest, touching the ground ahead of him. It opened into a tunnel beneath the sea, creating a berm in the ocean basin itself as he started to walk through the tunnel's unlighted gloom, then paused and fished a lantern from his modest pack and lit it so that he could see. He knew the likelihood of there being something to see was limited, but that was far better than wandering about blind.

 

A few days into his walk, he started to see glints and shimmers in the wall, and paused to turn his eye towards them to examine it. His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the different colours that were available; blue, green, red, violet, clear and white, and he paused to pluck an impressive gem of dark blue, and an impressive purple crystal. As his hand then began to move toward a large clear crystal, he paused, eyebrows furrowed, and he looked to one side and then the other, then up at the ceiling above him. Lips pursed a moment as he looked back toward the comparatively gigantic, pellucid gem, “Probably better not.”

 

Even so, he paused to run a hand across the flawless-seeming jewel that shimmered in lamplight as it sat within the crushing pressures around it, encircled in rock near the bottom of the wall of his tunnel beneath the deep water. He sighed at the jewel, “Perfect. Best get moving, though, some jewels are best left where they are.”

 

He continued on, though it would take many additional days of westward travel to reach his destination. Even so, it was important to proceed, and when the bedrock itself started to slope upward, his tunnel moved with it. When he came out from the ground he found himself in a cold and snowy woodland, looped around to look south, which allowed him to see by way of a glade with a clear view toward the mountain.

 

“Mount Ashmore,” he said to himself as he looked on it, coming out of the forest a few minutes later to look onto a vast network of lowland habitation. Farmlands, pasturelands, and handsome lowland villas around the mountain itself, with an urban metropolis rising from the summit above, overlooking Amish and Mennonite homesteads and attractive retirement villas. Beyond that, the mountainside itself rose from the ground, robed in snow on much of it while in other places the sides became sheer and lent themselves well to mountaineering.

 

Above the snowy slopes and sheer cliffs, there was the panorama of the city, itself. Sleek and stylish skyscrapers of numerous shapes rose out in various points of the city, ones that towered above all around them. He could see nothing truly decisive from his current position, but as the prophetess had foretold, he knew the name of who he was here to see, and also, the name of who he was here to deliver warnings concerning.

 

First, however, he made his way into the city itself, and found his way to a specific estate among the Elder Estates, and soon, knocked on the door that loomed above him. The residence sat on thirty acres of land and was encircled within an impressive wall of red brick and grey-white mortar, and a house of the same sort of fundamental Georgian style he knew of, from having lived in England for centuries. All through the Georgian era, certainly.

 

“Hell-Oh!” was the response of a young woman whose familial resemblance was quite striking. He stared for only a moment, then cleared his throat.

 

“Pardon me, you look a great deal like an ancestress of yours who provided me with a great service once. I wished to return this to your family, so that you would know of the kind service she provided,” he said promptly, and presented her a token, “My name is Korrigan. I met your ancestrix, Gabrielle Meadowcroft, many years ago. I wished to return this, albeit in intervening years and decades I elected not to come here as early as I might. Necessity draws me to the city, now, from an incredible distance to come in search of new home.”

 

“... thank you, then. I will show this to my father, Korrigan. Please let us know if you require any refuge, I am sure my father would accommodate your housing if need be.”

 

“I am sure he would, as well, as your ancestress so-assured,” Korrigan assured her pleasantly, before he tipped his head and then turned to leave. He saw no need to impose, and besides which, he had certainly tarried long enough in his role as deliverer of ancient omen to the one who would need to hear it.

 

“Wait, are you looking for someone? You seem in quite a hurry.”

 

“I am, in fact. I have come to deliver your ancestrix's augury to the one known locally as Dame Bonham.”

 

“She will be at Bonham Tower, at this time of day,” the young woman answered, and he nodded a bit.

 

“Could you tell me the date, and the time? My journey was long, and I was below the surface of the Earth. I believe I lost track of time,” he replied, and she nodded.

 

“It is Friday, the third day of January. It is presently 9:00 in the morning,” answered the young woman; he found he wondered why she was not in school, but perhaps that was none of his business to question. Whatever the case, he was quite thankful she had proven present and that she had answered, and not her family's butler, as it had eased and hastened the visit so he could proceed to his task.

 

“Thank you. You said she would be in Bonham Tower?”

 

“Yes. It is a massive stone tower in the heart of the city proper. It will be unmistakable when you see it. It is the one largest structure in the entire city proper, almost like a castle or fortress, after a fashion,” she answered with an explanation, to which he nodded.

 

“Thank you, again, that is most helpful, indeed,” Korrigan answered, then excused himself, turned, and strode swift from the Meadowcroft Estate to seek out this grand tower. A part of him expected it to be the tallest structure in the city, too, but within two hours, he found that to be not so much the case.

 

When he found the tower, he could certainly see the young lady's point, however. The tower was square, standing a thousand feet by a thousand feet, and rising one thousand twenty feet into the air. A monolith of granite and hardened glass, on the exterior, as he looked up at it.

 

“That's... yeah, fortress definitely describes it accurately. Damn, I hope she has elevators in this thing, cause that's a lot of stairs, otherwise. Well, time to deliver the warning she needs to hear.”

 

On entrance into the building, he easily discovered that she was on the highest floor, did indeed have elevators, and that walk-in appointments were not shot down like a Luftwaffe plane over London. As he reached the eighty-fifth floor, and stepped out of the elevator, he was drawn to the nearby windows, where he stared out over the city and whistled, eyebrows rising a bit in answer to the view.

 

“Whew, now that's a view... best get to the task, though. You can be distracted by scenic vistas later, Korrigan.” He turned and passed through a pair of large black double-doors with gunmetal-grey handles, and found another room that had a similar set of doors on the other side, and a young man with red hair sitting at a desk.

 

The young man was handsome, and fit, and looked up at him instantly with azure irises and eyebrows that lifted, in answer, as if somewhat surprised by the sight of him. He couldn't blame him, everyone had sort of stared at him, but nobody had halted him, either, though he could only assume Elizabeth knew he was coming, now.

 

“Welcome to Bonham Tower. You are here to see Lady Bonham.”

 

“Correct. I am Korrigan. I bear a message that I was instructed to deliver at the start of this year, long ago.”

 

“All right. One moment,” he answered, pressing a button as he turned his attention back toward the phone, “Dame Bonham? He has arrived. He has stated he has a message he must deliver to you. Of course, I will. You may go in – she is in her office, just through those doors.” He motioned toward the double-doors Korrigan had not entered through, and nodded a bit to him in answer before returning to his other duties as Korrigan headed for the doors.

 

As he passed through the doors, he looked around and saw a beautiful office of black stone and windows having an odd tinting to them, a desk that looked as old as Korrigan himself. Then, his eyes came to the woman, herself, standing there in her office, her back toward him, as she was in the process of speaking even as he entered the room.

 

“... I understand that most cities in the United States would be thrilled to become their State's Capital, but as I think you are well-aware, Governor Wallace, Mount Ashmore is not most cities. Typically, becoming the State Capital brings with it prestige, money, and employment opportunities, but you must understand, Joel. Mount Ashmore does not place an intense value on being prestigious, the city economy is strong, and unemployment is vanishingly minute. In short, becoming State's Capital would be an unrewarded responsibility for Mount Ashmore to shoulder, a burden to be carried quite laboriously, and with no discernible prize in return.”

 

While she was letting the Governor know Mount Ashmore was uninterested in becoming the capital of Maine, as it had been uninterested in it for over a hundred years, Korrigan took a moment to appreciate her appearance in an appropriate manner. Five feet eleven inches, and he would estimate a fraction below two hundred pounds, her form seeming toned, well-muscled, and sinewy, beneath a true-black suit jacket, suit pants, and Lady's Oxfords. Her hair was in a tight, short ponytail, probably about twelve inches in all he estimated, and her complexion of light apricot complimented the hair pigment – quite well, in his view.

 

“I understand, but this must be my last word on the topic this year, Governor. You are by all means welcome to call again next year, but for this year, Mount Ashmore has decided that we are not interested in becoming the Capital of Maine.” Elizabeth hung up the phone, setting it down as she stretched her muscles until her spine popped a bit, before turning around to look toward him, head tilting a bit to look down at him comfortably.

 

“Hmm. I see,” Elizabeth said as she examined him, with irises of vibrant cobalt blue, her somewhat thick eyebrows having a soft-angled curvature with a moderate arch, and a strong nose, “what is your name?”

 

“My name is Caerwyn Mordecai, but most simply call me Korrigan. I have been alive for several centuries, and the ancestress of one of this city's Elder Families sent me with an augury for you.”

 

“An augury? I see, you were associated with Gabrielle Meadowcroft.”

 

“You know of her?”

 

“She warned my family, centuries ago, of the Revolutionary War, which ensured we had time to prepare the city for the task of defending against the soldiers of the Royal Expeditionary Force. She sent you with another prophecy?”

 

“Yes. She foresaw your life under threat, more so then usual, by more than the ordinary offender. I have been asked to warn you of this: Rasputin Vuyandimov means to send forces against you. She indicated that he would be sending against you what she called a small army at the time.”

 

“The autocratic despot of Russia, wishes to kill me, specifically, by name?”

 

“You represent everything he hates in the world, and particularly, everything he hates in the west, everything which he sees as diminishing Russia's standing in the world,” Korrigan answered, “so, yes, in short, you, specifically, in particular. You are wealthier than he is, you are smarter than he is, you are more successful than he is, and yet at the same time, you are also charitable, and of legitimate and ancient ancestral wealth. Moreover, your efforts in the 2,016 elections overwhelmingly invalidated his own efforts to corrupt them, moving the United States in the opposite direction as he wanted to manipulate it, and cost him billions of dollars for no reward. Worst of all, all of these facts are compounded by the fact you are a woman – one who is yet still further also taller than him, more athletic than him, and indubitably in his mind, better endowed, and for his thinking, how dare a woman be able to be superior to him in so many ways.”

 

“I see your reasoning,” Elizabeth answered with a nod, “Please accept the hospitality of Bonham Manor, Korrigan. I believe that you shall feature well in my plans for how to handle this situation.”

 

“Of course, and thank you for the hospitality, Dame Bonham,” Korrigan answered, bowing his head respectfully – he hadn't lived several centuries in England without learning the value of courtesy. Their business concluded, he moved out from her office to the waiting room, where he found somewhere to sit that would be out-of-the-way. She had business to do, work to complete, and he could wait patiently for the trip back to her residence until she was done; he had waited centuries, a few hours would prove hardly a hardship.

 

When her workday ended, he was surprised that it was a bit easy, but only briefly before he remembered the way in which she split up her day, and found himself looking at her car. A black metallic Lamborghini Aventador, the 2,019 model, and buckled himself into the passenger's seat. As much as he expected extreme driving behaviours, he was surprised to find that she drove in a way that was cautious, conscientious, and courteous: despite the extravagant car, she was a polite driver, as much as traffic laws allowed. Her license plate, he'd noticed, was unsubtle: BONHAM.

 

When they arrived at the Estate, his eyes slid upward, examining the granite walls and massive yews that soared up comparative to his own height, reaching ninety-two feet. The familiar English Yews gave way to American Linden trees that lined the driveway and stood one hundred twenty feet tall before giving way to Sugar Maples also standing one hundred and twenty feet tall encircling the home. The manicured landscaping of the yard was beautiful to behold, while the Manor itself was stunningly lovely to his eye, not to mention being a rather massive structure for having only two floors.

 

“Your home is quite lovely.”

 

“Thank you, I always felt like my ancestors had excellent taste, myself. I must warn you, I will need to take a rest, I sleep twice per day; medical health professionals have found empirical evidence that suggest it is better for one's wellness,” Elizabeth replied politely as she pulled into the garage. Even as they got out of the car, Korrigan turned to watch as two cars pulled in behind them, cars he had noticed on the street nearby on their way here, which pulled in and parked in two of the interior garage's available spaces. One was dark green, the other dark blue, but both were the same make and model: BMW F11 M5; as they parked, a man got out of the blue one, and a woman got out of the green one.

 

“Meet my bodyguards, Brenin Llewellyn, and Arnaude Holveck,” Elizabeth said, motioning the man, then woman. Korrigan nodded in answer to the introductions. The man had short true-black hair and azure blue eyes that complimented a blanched almond complexion, standing an inch above six feet. The woman, alternatively, had somewhat long hair of coffee brown and eyes that matched, set against a deep peach complexion, and standing two inches shorter than six feet. Each was muscular and athletically toned, having all the trademarks Korrigan recognized as the indicators of a career, veteran soldier.

 

“Caerwyn Mordecai, although they commonly call me Korrigan, for the visually obvious reasons,” stated Korrigan.

 

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance; of course, Dame Bonham hardly requires protective services, but that only makes our work easier, and it does come with a lovely perk in the form of a great vehicle,” Brenin answered, with a bit of a chortle at the mention, “Left MARSOC after it broke in 2017 that fellow Marines were disrespecting female Marines on the social media sites with inappropriate and in some cases unlawful photographs.”

 

“If you will excuse me, Korrigan, I have some things I need to take care of and need to lie down – make yourself at home, my staff will see to all necessary accommodation, including making a room available for you to use as your own.” At that, Korrigan nodded respectfully as Elizabeth excused herself, and soon she had departed.

 


End file.
